


Consider This

by bigasswritingmagnet (thekumquat)



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Oblivious, Requited Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2019-10-16 20:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17553062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekumquat/pseuds/bigasswritingmagnet
Summary: As far as Varric is concerned, Cassandra's been reading too many romance novels. There's no way he could be in love with Hawke and not know it. That sort of thing doesn't happen in real life. Besides, Hawke's just his friend, right?Right?...Uh oh.





	1. Chapter 1

Cassandra slammed him against the wooden railing so hard it almost knocked the breath out of his lungs. Her nails dug into his shoulders through the thick leather of his jacket. If Cassandra had been a mage, Varric was pretty sure she’d have burned a hole through his skull with that look.  

“You knew! You knew where she was all along, and you  _ lied _ !”

He shoved her off of him and glared right back. Normally this was the part where he would try and defuse the situation, or get away, but not this time. Not about this.  

“You’re damn right I did!” 

When she balled up her fist and swung, Varric reconsidered his stance on running. At the very least, he should be out of arm’s reach. Only once a table was firmly in between the two of them did he say “I wasn’t going to hand Hawke over to you on a silver platter just because you  _ asked _ !”

“I did not  _ ask _ , I  _ arrested  _ you!” 

“ _ Exactly!  _  You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! Did you seriously think after everything you put me through I’d willingly let you get within five hundred feet of her?” 

“ _ Enough!”  _

Varric wasn’t sure when Adaar had arrived at the top of the stairs, but she was there now, looming as only an angry qunari could. Varric was relatively sure she wouldn’t throw him out the window, but even pointed at Cassandra, that look made him nervous. 

“You can’t be taking his side!” Cassandra protested. 

“ _ Enough.”  _ Adaar’s voice was sharp as steel and brooked no argument. Varric kept a wary eye on Cassandra all the same. 

“He is a liar and a snake and he  _ cannot  _ be trusted!” the seeker snapped. 

“I was protecting my friend!” Varric protested. 

And then something... _ weird _ happened. Not all, but some of Cassandra’s anger drained away. Her expression softened. The look in her eyes was still angry, still betrayed, but also sad. 

“I know why you did it, Varric,” she said and the tone of her voice was just as strange and upsetting as the look. “That does not make it right.” 

Which was weirder, the sudden change in her demeanor, or the fact that she was being downright reasonable (for her, anyway)?

“What is, is,” Adaar said. “Yelling changes nothing. Neither does  _ hitting  _ him,” she added sternly. Cassandra huffed and looked away. Adaar waited another moment, but when no further reaction came, she looked at Varric. “I want to trust you. No more secrets.” 

Varric started to protest, but, shit, she was right. 

“I know. I was-- I know. But I’m on your side!” 

Cassandra was giving him that  _ look  _ again. It was more upsetting than the violence. 

“Varric has his own priorities, Inquisitor. They are not the Inquisitions, and I doubt they ever will be.” 

Varric finally recognized the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes, and was horrified to realize it was  _ sympathy _ . 

 

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. The conversation kept replaying over and over in his head as he desperately tried to pinpoint what had changed Cassandra’s mood so abruptly. She’d been ready to if not kill, then at least seriously maim him, then the next second she was... _ sympathetic.  _ To  _ him _ . About  _ lying to her _ . 

Had she gone crazy? Gotten so angry she just snapped completely? It was hard to say for sure, since she’d spent the last two days avoiding him. He was just fine with that, thanks, not quite trusting her not to decide to finish the job she’d started, but there was one line in particular that he kept getting stuck on. 

_ I know why you did it.  _

Not, I  _ understand _ . I  _ know _ . Like it wasn’t new information. Like she’d known something like this was going to happen. The accusation about his priorities was also galling, mostly because he had the unsettling suspicion that she was right. He could put all of his time and energy and resources into the Inquisition, work himself to the bone to build it up, and he  _ would _ . He’d be proud of that. But Varric knew, in his heart, that if it ever came down to choosing between the Inquisition and Hawke, he wouldn’t hesitate. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. 

_ I know why you did it _ . 

More than anything the curiosity was killing him. The sneaking and the avoiding his eyes and the  _ sympathy _ (he was still freaking out about that). After two days of wondering and worrying and overthinking, he had to recognize that there was no way he was going to figure this out on his own. Also, it was consuming a little too much of his attention -- Hawke was starting to complain that he was letting her win their card games. 

There was nothing for it: he was going to have to ask. 

He knew he couldn’t just waltz up to Cassandra in the middle of the day and expect her to spill. Or, slightly more concerning, she would and it would be something he didn’t want other people to overhear. His best shot at getting answers was to get her alone -- normally something he avoided in the name of personal safety, but needs must. 

"Seeker," he said politely, maintaining a safe distance as Cassandra swung her sword. She jumped, startled, and the flat of the sword bounced off the dummy's wooden neck. When Cassandra whirled around to glare at him, Varric took another step back. But when she saw it was him, her eyes went wide..  

"Oh," she said. "Hello. How...how are you doing?" She said it like she'd read it in a book labelled 'how to be polite'. A book she had skimmed and abandoned halfway through. 

"Are you--" He was about to say 'being nice to me', but changed his mind at the last second. Answers first, mockery later. Or much later, depending on how angry she still was. “I wanted to talk, about the other day.” 

Cassandra went stiff. She pressed her lips together and turned back to the training dummy. 

“I have said all that I intend to on the matter. You know my feelings. I know yours. It is done.” 

“ _ I know why you did it. _ ” 

Shit, he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But it might have been the right idea, because Cassandra actually looked at him. She was startled, and it showed. An off-balance Cassandra was a Cassandra who could be tricked into saying more than she meant to. 

“What did you say?” she asked. Was she paler than usual? 

“You said that to me, while we were arguing. About why I didn’t tell you where Hawke was. ‘I know why you did it’. What did you mean?” 

Instantly Cassandra turned away from him, now staring out at the courtyard. 

“I meant I understood your motivations. Hawke is your...friend, and you were trying to protect her from a threat.” 

_ Maker,  _ the woman was a terrible liar. And he had definitely noticed the little pause before ‘friend’. 

“But you didn’t say ‘I understand’, you said ‘I know’. That’s different.” 

Cassandra glared at him. Not a great improvement, but at least she was making eye contact again. Was that a good thing? Varric wasn’t sure. 

“What difference does it make if I say one word or another?” 

“Implication is everything, seeker. And you’re avoiding the question.” 

“I--!” Cassandra suddenly sighed and put her sword back into the sheath. She twisted her fingers together, something experience had taught Varric meant a mixture of nerves and social anxiety. “It is not my place to say.” 

“Since when has  _ that  _ ever stopped you?” 

“This is different. It is...personal.” 

“You’re not going to confess your undying love or anything, are you?” 

At ‘love’, Cassandra flinched, and Varric experienced a moment of pure terror so strong he thought he’d pass out. 

“Oh sweet Maker, please tell me you aren’t  _ actually _ \--”

"No!" she snapped. Don't be ridiculous! It wasn't about me!" Then Cassandra subsided. Hunched her shoulders. More finger twisting. Okay, she wasn't in love with him, that was good, crisis averted. But somehow the anxiety wasn't dissipating. In fact, it was getting worse, crawling up his spine, making his muscles tense like he was ready for a fight. Or to run. Probably run. 

“It’s not my place to say,” Cassandra said again, in the tone of someone who really, really wants to. 

“How will you know if you don’t say? Come on, Seeker, tell me what’s on your mind. I promise I won’t be offended.” Varric put on his best cajoling tone, the kind he normally used on animals and Carta assassins. 

Cassandra turned abruptly and moved to the stump next to the training dummies. She sat down. Stared at her feet. Twist, twist, twist. Varric approached with caution, and waited. At last Cassandra took a deep breath and straightened.

"Varric, has it ever occurred to you that you might be in love with Hawke?" 

Varric's jaw dropped. He stared at her. His mind was blank, a silent void that could barely comprehend what he'd just heard, let alone find the words to answer. He was vaguely aware of his mouth trying to form words. Nothing could come out. He grasped around futilely in his own head for a response, any response. At last he found an old classic, certainly appropriate for the situation. 

" **_What?"_ **

People on the other side of the courtyard turned to stare. Not ideal, but at least the outburst had dislodged the rest of his words. 

" _ Do I think--"  _ Too loud. He cut himself off and his voice down to a furious whisper. "No, I'm not in--!  _ Maker _ , you can't just  _ say  _ things like that!" 

Cassandra puffed up indignantly, looking so much like an angry bird of prey it would have been funny, if things could be funny at that moment. 

"I wasn't  _ going  _ to say it, you asked me to tell you!" 

The initial shock began to wear off, and now that Varric felt less like he’d walked into a wall, he had to admit it was kind of funny.  _ In love with Hawke _ . The very idea of it was so ridiculous, so  _ absurd _ , he had to laugh. It was a slightly strangled laugh, but it was a laugh. 

“ _ Why  _ would you ever think I’m.. _ that _ ?” 

“Everything you have done, has been for Hawke. You knew if you told me were Hawke was, I would let you go, but you still refused to tell. You accepted the danger, so she would not have to.” 

“Seeker, that’s what you do for a friend. You would know, if you had any.” 

Cassandra ignored the jab. 

“You tell stories about her, and  _ only _ about her. Even when you tell stories about other people, she always ends up involved  _ somewhere _ .” 

“All my good stories involve Hawke because I spent the last ten years doing nothing but follow her around!”

“Oh, I see. You have completely disproven my assumption with your evidence.” 

“Don’t try sarcasm, Seeker, you’re not built for it.” 

“You spend all your time in Skyhold sitting around  _ moping _ \--"

"Moping--!" 

"--and all your time outside of it  _ complaining.  _ The only time you don't do either of those, you're talking about Hawke." 

Varric sighed. “That’s not  _ love _ , Seeker, it’s  _ nostalgia _ .”

Cassandra folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. She didn’t do a very good job at it, and Varric had to fight back the urge to laugh again. 

“And nostalgia is also why all of your stories revolve around how wonderful you think Hawke is?” 

“What!” 

“Every story you tell is the same. Hawke does something heroic, and then she says something clever and charming and you talk about how she’s the greatest person you’ve ever met.” 

“That’s because she--” is _ the greatest person I’ve ever met,  _ he did not finish because no. No, no, no. No. That was  _ not-- _ It wasn’t like he was making stuff up about Hawke! He wasn’t lying when he told those stories, or at least no more than his usual edits and embellishments. Varric didn’t need to exaggerate how  funny and charming and clever Hawke was. She just was those things!

Besides, he would  _ know  _ if he was...that. People didn’t not know they were in love. This wasn’t a romance novel, it was real life! He wasn’t an  _ idiot _ . 

Right?

Varric realized he was frozen mid-gesture, and staring blankly at Cassandra’s belt buckle. 

“I...have to go be. Somewhere else. And do. Something. Not here.” Without waiting for an answer, or daring to look up at Cassandra’s face, he fled. 

 

Varric shut the door to his room very carefully behind him, and hurried over to his desk. Paper had been hard to come by where Hawke was, so she tended to write her letters to him on the backs of the ones he sent her. He rifled through the pages, eyes skimming over his own writing, occasionally skipping words or whole sentences in his haste to find a lack of proof. 

_ I wish you could have been there; you would have dropped kicked him right off the cliff, like you did with that slaver captain.   _

_ We could have really used that spell of yours, the one where you toss people into the air? Our fights would be over a lot faster with you around, but then nobody else would have anything to do.  _

_ I’m sure you’ve got a quip for that, let me know what we should have said and I’ll remember for next time. _

_ The Inquisitor gets the job done but he just doesn’t have your finesse, or your sense of  _

_ It wasn’t a bad time but I would have liked it if you were there _

_ Everyone keeps talking about how flashy Dorian is, but until he figures out how to weaponize a light display he doesn’t even come close to  _

_ Don’t worry, she’s nowhere near as smart as _

_ can’t tell the others but I know I can trust _

_ not as good as _

_ just wasn’t the same without  _

_ better when you _

The letters began to crumple as Varric’s grip grew tighter. Each one was worse than the last. Maker, in this one he told her he missed her  _ three times _ on  _ one  _ page! Here he’d spent an entire paragraph describing how the fight would have gone if she was there and most of it was about how she’d show everyone up... And- oh no, he’d stopped halfway through describing the people at the Winter Palace to tell her that they weren’t as pretty as her,  _ why _ ? It wasn’t even relevant! 

Varric dropped the letters and stood up so abruptly he banged his knee on the corner of the desk. He winced but didn’t stop, tugging open the chest at the foot of his bed. Down at the bottom, mixed in with a few of his other books, was a copy of  _ The Tale of the Champion _ . He pulled it out and flipped through it hurriedly, tearing a page in his haste.

_ I'd planned for nothing more than a business deal, but the moment I saw her I knew she was going to be so much more than a helping hand on an expedition. It was her eyes. They’re the color of lyrium, that impossible blue, and when she looks at you, you can sense the strength hidden in her, power concealed but just below the surface, a promise and a warning all in one.  _

Varric was in love with Hawke. 

“ _ Shit _ .” 


	2. Chapter 2

The important thing, the  _ vital  _ thing, was not to let anyone know. Not even Hawke. Oh, Maker,  _ especially  _ not Hawke. She could never know. Never.  _ Never _ . Unless she already knew. No, she would have said something. Right? Unless she knew and didn’t return the feelings, and was pretending not to notice to spare him the embarrassment of rejection.  

What if she  _ did  _ feel the same way? 

He banished the thought. No. That was ridiculous. Varric would have noticed if Hawke was in love with him. He may not have figured out his own emotions, but he was very good at reading other people. He’d know. Right? Right. 

So. Varric would have to act like he hadn’t just had the most earth shattering revelation of his life, like nothing had changed at all. It would have been much easier if Hawke wasn’t here. Then he would just have to make sure to edit his letters a little more carefully. But it would be fine. He was a good liar. Hell, he’d been able to lie to himself for...a while, probably (he really didn’t want to re-examine the last ten years; he didn’t want to know how long he’d been deluding himself). He just had to act totally normal. 

Except normal was blatantly in love with Hawke so...sort of normal. The normal he’d thought it was. 

Hawke had sequestered herself in one of the unclaimed, mostly-repaired rooms by the battlements, out of the way enough that no one could stumble across her. She wasn’t hiding, exactly, just avoiding attention. But Hawke was a people person, hated to be cooped up by herself. Varric knew she was bored and lonely up there, waiting for the Inquisitor to make a move on the Ventori, and he hated that he couldn’t be up there with her all the time. 

For her sake. To keep her company. 

_ Shit _ . 

That was  _ exactly  _ the kind of thinking that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. Varric was going to have to be more careful, and he reminded himself of this fact several times as he climbed the stairs to Hawke’s room. When he reached the top, he took a deep breath, and let it out. He was a great liar. He could do this. 

Varric rapped his knuckles on the door. 

“It’s me.” 

“Why do you bother knocking?” was the muffled reply. “You know you can just come in.” 

Varric opened the door. 

“It’s the polite thing to do. You know, those ‘manners’ things everyone is always talking about?” 

Hawke was stretched out on the bed, reading a book. She smiled at him and shit  _ shit  _ shitshitshit, the warm glowing feeling in his chest he always got when she smiled at him was  _ not  _ just being happy to see his friend. How had he never noticed how close to giddy this feeling was? 

“Never heard of them,” Hawke said. Varric dumped the bag he was carrying on the table. 

“Brought you something to eat.” He drew out two bottles. “And drink.” 

“Ah, a prince among dwarves.” 

Varric crossed the room and settled himself on the edge of the bed; popped the cork and passed her the bottle. She took a deep swig and choked, nearly spitting it out. 

“Oh sweet Maker, that’s  _ terrible _ . I thought we were friends!” 

“We are. Trust me, that’s as good as it gets around here.” 

“The Hanged Man had better than this,” Hawke complained. 

“We both know you’re going to drink it anyway, so stop whining. What are you reading?” 

“Oh!” Hawke marked the page and turned it to show him with a smile and Varric felt his heart stop. He recognized that cover, he damn well should, he’d argued with the publisher for  _ days  _ about it. With dramatic flair, she said “ _ The Tale of the Champion!  _ I mentioned to Cassandra that I never actually read it, so she lent me hers _ \-- _ What?” 

Varric realized he was staring in something very like fear and hurriedly pulled himself back together. 

“What?” he parroted, trying to sound normal. 

“What was that look?” Hawke was looking at him suspiciously, but the amused kind of suspicious, when she thought she knew he was up to something fun. 

“There wasn’t a look,” Varric insisted, eyes darting away and back, playing it up for her. 

“What did you put in here?” she asked, grinning. “What dastardly tales have you concocted about me?” 

_ Oh, not much, just a lot about how brave and beautiful and amazing you are because I’m the most obvious dwarf in Thedas _ , Varric didn’t say. Instead he put a hand on his heart and gave her a wounded look. Let her think that that was all it was, just ridiculous exaggerations from a compulsive liar.

“Serrah Hawke, that you think I would ever tell anything but the absolute truth--! You have offended my dwarven honor!” 

Hawke giggled. Maker, he’d missed that sound. It had been so long since he’d heard her laugh, longer still since her eyes were clear of shadows. He’d do whatever he could to keep that smile on her face a little longer. 

“I demand satisfaction!” he said. “Swords at dawn!” 

Hawke laughed outright and nudged him in the side with her foot. 

“Varric Tethras, in all the years I’ve known you, you have never  _ once  _ gotten up before midday of your own free will. If you wouldn’t do it for me, you  _ certainly  _ wouldn’t do it for ‘dwarven honor’.” 

“I’d do it for you,” he said without thinking, and kicked himself. Hadn't he  _ just _ had a conversation with himself about not doing this exact thing? But Hawke was just waiting patiently for the punchline, and Varric gave up. If Hawke hadn’t noticed in the last few years, she probably wouldn’t notice now, whatever he said.  

“I’d get up at dawn if you needed me to,” he said. “You’d owe me one, but I’d do it.” 

Hawke’s smile grew soft and pleased, made his heart thud against his ribs. He’d always thought it was just being happy that his friend was happy, pleasure in making a friend’s day a little brighter, a little easier. And it  _ was _ , but it was more, too. He’d done a lot over the years to help his friends, but for Hawke?

He’d get up at dawn every day for the rest of his life, if it made her smile like that. 

Varric took a deep drink from the bottle in his hand.  _ Maker _ , he had it bad. 

  
  


“Seeker, why is Hawke reading your copy of  _ The Tale of the Champion _ ?” Varric was trying very hard not to sound accusatory, in the interest of keeping the peace. This time Cassandra didn’t flinch, but followed the arc of her sword into the sackcloth flesh of the training dummy.

“She mentioned she had not read it yet,” the seeker said, in a suspiciously conversational tone. 

“So you just gave her your copy. Just like that? Right then and there?” 

“Is that so strange?” Cassandra asked, setting aside her sword and turning to face him. Her expression was mild, but he could tell she was still pleased with herself. Like piecing together Varric’s hidden feelings towards his friend just by the way he talked and wrote about her was some big investigative achievement. 

“It’s not very in character,” Varric said. “And considering our history together you’ll excuse me getting nervous when you starting acting suspicious.” 

“I gave it to her because if anyone has a right to read it, she does. Besides,” she added, slyly, which was almost worse than the sympathy, “I thought she might find it...illuminating.” 

“Illuminating? What would it-- Oh. Oh no. No, no, you are  _ not _ \--”

“When I spoke with Hawke, I realized you still hadn’t told her about your feelings, so I thought I might...nudge things in the right direction, as it were.” The smugness was now radiating off of her like the holy glow of Andraste. 

“Nudge--! You can’t go messing around in my personal life like this!” Varric protested. 

“I’m not ‘messing around’, I’m  _ helping _ . Something had to be done.”

It wasn’t that Varric was speechless so much as there were so many things he wanted to say and ways to say them that he couldn’t pick just one. Finally he gave up on eloquence, and went with emphasis. 

“No! It didn’t! Nothing had to be done! There was no ‘doing’ necessary!” 

“Are you truly content to pine after her forever, Varric?” Cassandra asked, wistfully. Varric pointed at her, scowling. 

“Do  _ not  _ take that tone with me. That’s the voice you use when you talk about the Knight Captain, and I am  _ not  _ a character from one of your romance novels. And I am not  _ pining _ ! I am being respectful of our friendship.”  

Cassandra’s eyes lit up and went wide, brimming with the strength of her romantic enthusiasm. Varric leaned back as the Seeker eagerly leaned forward. 

“You think she does not return your feelings! You’re  _ afraid!” _

Varric wasn’t sure which was worse, that his love life was now Cassandra’s replacement for  _ Swords and Shields _ or that she was, once again, right. 

_ Shit _ . 

He  _ was  _ afraid. One-sided romance could and did pull apart the threads of a friendship. Things that were once done without thinking were suddenly second-guessed, analysed for hidden meaning, avoided outright. The easy way Hawke flung her arm around his shoulders, the playful flirtations, all of it would grind to a halt, and the closeness between them would crystalize into something sharp and strange. 

Varric wouldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let that happen. Hawke needed a friend, not another burden. The whole world was leaning on her, and she didn’t need yet another person grasping for something she didn’t have to give. 

“Look. Hawke doesn’t need this, alright? She has enough to worry about, so just...don’t.” 

“But if she feels the same way--!” 

“She doesn’t,” Varric said, cutting her off sharply. 

“But how will you know for certain if you don’t ask?” Cassandra was starting to drift back towards wistful, and that was the last thing Varric wanted from her.   __

“Because I  _ know _ her--” He stopped short, but too late. He’d left himself wide open, and Cassandra pounced. 

“You didn’t know how  _ you  _ felt!  _ I  _ had to tell you. Love is more than passion, Varric. It needs trust, and bravery, and--” 

“Stop quoting my own books at me! It’s... _ weird _ . I’m not telling Hawke.  _ You  _ are not telling Hawke. No one is telling Hawke!” 

“No one is telling me what?” 

Varric had a brief moment where he thought his might actually have jumped out of his body in sheer terror. Hawke was standing at the edge of the training yards, her expression one of mild interest. Varric tried to search her expression as closely as he could without being obvious about it. He couldn’t find any hint that she’d overheard. But…

“How long were you standing there?” he demanded. Hawke grinned. 

“How long do you want me to not have been standing here?” she asked mischievously. 

“If you needed to speak to Varric alone, I can go,” Cassandra offered helpfully, slowly stepping back. 

“Actually, I came to give you back your book. I finished it.” She crossed the yard and held out Cassandra’s copy of  _ The Tale of the Champion _ . 

“Oh!” Cassandra stared down at it , surprised, and a little disappointed. “You finished it already?” 

“Well, I skimmed it. I already knew what was going to happen, so…” she shrugged. 

“Are you calling my book  _ boring _ , Hawke?” Varric demanded. “After all the effort I put into it for you?” 

“You said it, not me. But thank you, Cassandra. I appreciate it.” 

Cassandra floundered for a moment, then rallied. 

“I think you should give it another try. Considering how many lies Varric put into it, I would be surprised if you recognized the events in it at all.” 

Varric mentally threw every curse he knew at the Seeker as Hawke reconsidered the book in her hands. 

“He did make some... _ interesting  _ choices when describing the ogre fight.” 

“It’s really not  _ that  _ different,” Varric protested, weakly, knowing the situation was already far beyond his control. 

“You should especially look at the pages I marked. I believe you will find them...very interesting.” 

Varric wondered if he could sink into the ground and disappear forever. Maybe if he prayed to the Stone? That was a thing, right? Stone sense, Stone song, Stone hiding-you-from-unrequited-love-and-meddling-Seekers?

“Thank you, Cassandra. If it makes Varric half as uncomfortable as he looks right now, I’ll do it.” 

“You’re a terrible friend,” Varric said automatically. 

“So what was it we aren’t telling me?” asked Hawke, who hadn’t forgotten that, because of course she hadn’t, that would require the Maker to be a kind and loving god. 

“Uh…” Varric glanced from Cassandra, who was waiting expectantly, and Hawke, who was raising an eyebrow at his delay. 

_ Dear Stone, please, in your infinite mercy, swallow me whole or strike me dead, whichever would be faster. Yours truly, Varric Tethras.   _


	3. Chapter 3

Varric was not avoiding Hawke. He wasn’t, really. It was just that there was work to be done, and he could never get work done when Hawke was around. She would insist that she would let him work in peace, but inevitably she’d strike up a conversation, or flick something at his head, or start reading over his shoulder. Hawke was a walking distraction, infinitely more interesting than the Merchant’s Guild. 

So. He was sitting in his usual place by the fire in the main hall, working on letters, and absolutely not avoiding Hawke. 

And it was because he wasn’t avoiding Hawke that when someone approached his table, he looked up hopefully. As much as he needed not to be distracted, he desperately wanted to be distracted. But it wasn’t Hawke at all, just one of Skyhold’s runners. 

“Message from the Champion for you, ser.” 

Varric sat up a little straighter. Why would she send him a message, instead of coming to get him? Unless she was that truly dedicated to avoiding notice. Or something was horribly wrong. 

Knowing her? He started to worry. 

“She wants you to meet her in the woods outside Skyhold.” The runner passed him a small piece of paper, a quickly sketched map to a clearing just outside the walls. Varric frowned. Why the hell did Hawke want to meet him there? She liked the outdoors more than he did, but what could she possibly have to say to him that she couldn’t say here? 

Unless….

“Did she say why?” 

The runner shook his head. 

Unless Cassandira’s little trick had worked, and Hawke had put the clues together. Unless Hawke wanted to let him down gently, and wanted to be sure to do it in private. His guts clenched, instantly tying themselves into one big knot. 

Varric stood up and shuffled away his papers. No sense worrying. It might not be that. Maybe she just wanted some fresh air and company. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was an entirely unrelated disaster. 

It didn’t help. 

 

Night fell fast in the mountains. Though it was dusk when Varric set out, by the time he reached the woods he was wishing he’d brought a lantern. Dwarves were supposed to have excellent night vision; Varric often wondered if it was possible that it had somehow skipped him. 

As he neared the clearing, though, he saw a warm light flickering between the trees. Hawke must already be there, and she didn’t like the dark anymore than he did. He quickened his pace, stepped into the clearing, and stopped dead, blood turning to ice in his veins. 

Hawke was not in the clearing. 

The light he’d seen came from a dozen large candles in polished copper bowls. The ground was liberally sprinkled with rose petals. A blanket had been spread in the center of the clearing, bearing a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a small bouquet of flowers. 

Varric crossed to the blanket, feeling slightly numb and extremely disoriented. Carefully, he picked up the bouquet and examined it. Violets, bound together with a small white ribbon. Absentmindedly running the end of the ribbon through his fingers, Varric’s mind churned. This wasn’t like Hawke at all. She didn’t  _ do  _ things like this. 

A sharp inhale behind him made him spin around. 

Hawke stood at the edge of the clearing, holding a small lantern. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open. She was shocked, first and foremost, but there was something else there too. He couldn’t quite tell what, though. Horror probably. And who could blame her? From where she was standing it looked an awful lot like Varric was about to--

_ Cassandra _ . 

The wave of anger jolted Varric back into motion. He dropped the bouquet like it was nettles instead of violets. Swallowing down the automatic wave of denials, he said “Someone has a really bad sense of humor.” 

He watched Hawke’s eyes flick around the clearing. Her shoulders slumped and her mouth shut. She looked down at her feet, shifted the lantern to her other hand. 

“Oh.” 

“What?” he asked. That didn’t look quite like the relief he’d been expecting. Her head snapped back up, a smile coming nowhere near her eyes. 

“Nothing!” she said, far too brightly. “I’m just trying to guess who might have done it. They certainly put in a lot of effort. I’m pretty sure violets are out of season.” 

“Sera, probably. She’s the resident prankster.” Except Sera’s pranks tended to be immediate and physical and occasionally deadly. And she had standards, strange as they were. She didn’t mess with people about things that mattered. 

Cassandra, on the other hand, had no sense of propriety and was about as subtle as a bear in a tavern.

Hawke didn’t know that, and didn’t need to. 

Silence stretched, a strange tension in the air that Varric couldn’t decipher and didn’t know how to break. He felt tight and tense and miserable and if this changed anything,  _ anything,  _ now of all times-- Then Hawke shrugged. She blew out her lantern and set it on a nearby rock before approaching. 

“Is the wine any good? Seems a shame to waste it.” Her tone was casual, slightly amused, drifting towards something like normal. 

Varric picked up the bottle and glanced at the label. His eyebrows went up. Cassandra had to have raided someone’s private store to get  _ this _ . Maybe he should just rat her out to Vivienne and let the Iron Lady take care of revenge for him. 

“That good?” Hawke asked. She sank smoothly onto the blanket, crossing her legs and settling her elbows on her knees. Her smile was too flat, too mild. He wondered if it was as painful to put on as it was to look at.  

“That good,” Varric said, joining her. He popped the cork off the bottle and filled the glasses. As he did so, he watched Hawke out of the corner of his eye. She was looking around the clearing with a strangely wistful expression. 

“Seems an awful lot of work to go through just for a practical joke.” Her tone was vague, but he could tell she was uncomfortable. Hardly surprising. 

“Sera has a lot of time on her hands,” he said dryly, and held out the wine glass to her. Hawke’s fingers brushed his when she took it; she glanced at him and then away, hurriedly. The drink she took was rather larger than a sip. 

They were going to have  _ words _ , he and the Seeker. 

“Why violets?” Hawke said suddenly, picking up the bouquet. “Why not roses?” 

“Maybe she ran out,” he said, flicking a petal off of the blanket. Hawke let out a bark of a laugh. 

“What was the  _ point? _ ” she asked suddenly, flinging out an arm to encompass the monstrosity surrounding them. “Did she think whoever arrived first would drop to their knees and instantly confess feelings of undying love?” 

_ Yes, yes she did.  _

Varric felt another prickling wave of cold, but he forced himself to laugh. 

“Our self-control would crumble in the face of candles and rose petals,” he said. 

“She should take notes from Isabela. The number of times she “accidentally” knocked me into Fenris’ lap…” 

Now Varric’s laugh was genuine. 

“Or vice-versa, remember? He almost put your eye out with a spike one time.”

The tension between them bled away as they turned to safer topics, but Varric couldn’t let go of the small angry knot in his chest. The whole  _ point  _ of not telling Hawke how he felt was to make sure their friendship stayed intact. If Cassandra ruined it on her own with her meddling… Varric wouldn’t allow that. No matter what the Seeker said.

They stayed out in the clearing talking long after the wine was finished off, but eventually the night chill drove them back inside. Varric left the mess for Cassandra to clean up, though it seemed prudent to blow out the candles. 

Hawke seemed to have gotten over what must have been an extremely unpleasant shock, but Varric noticed that she kept glancing at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Like she was waiting for him to say something, but what was there to say?

Varric did not return to his rooms when they parted. He crossed the courtyard, cut through the garden, and climbed the stone steps to Cassandra’s quarters. He wasn’t going to wait and speak to her out in the training yard. Not this time. She had gone too far. 

He pounded on her door, not caring if anyone else heard, or if the Seeker was asleep. It opened so abruptly he almost punched Cassandra in the sternum. She was out of her armor, for once, and he would have been more fascinated by the sight of her in a flowing shirt with her braid unpinned if he hadn’t been so damn  _ angry _ . 

"What were you  _ thinking _ ?" she demanded. Varric scowled right back. 

"I was just about to ask you the same thing!" he snapped. She grabbed his arm and hauled him into her room, shoving the door closed behind her. 

"You can't just--" he started, but Cassandra had clearly been working herself up to this all night. 

“I cannot  _ believe  _ you pinned it on Sera! I gave you the perfect set up, and you--” 

"You were  _ watching _ ?" Varric interrupted, horrified. 

"Of course I was! How else would I be able to know if it worked?" Cassandra said in a huff. 

Varric despaired. What had he done to deserve this? He knew he deserved a lot of things, but  _ this _ ? 

“You can’t just--” 

But Cassandra wasn’t listening. She began to pace back and forth. 

“Didn’t you see the look on her face? She was--”

“Horrified,” Varric snapped. 

“Disappointed! She thought you had finally come to your senses--” 

“Oh, for-- _ ”  _

“--and then you break her--” 

“ _ Don’t.”  _ The word came out so cold and so sharp that it startled him almost as much as it startled her. “Hawke is under a lot of pressure, and a lot of stress, and I am not going to do anything to make that worse. She needs--” and here he raised his voice as Cassandra opened her mouth, “to be able to trust me. To trust that I’m not going to be one more person who wants a piece of her. She doesn’t need any more complications in her life. So drop it, Seeker. Leave her alone. Leave  _ me  _ alone.” 

“But--” 

“This is not up for discussion, Cassandra. If I have to take this to the Inquisitor, I will. Leave. It. Be.”

He waited for her to argue, or to threaten, but she just pressed her lips together and did not meet his eyes. That was as close as he was going to get, he supposed. Varric left, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

That, he thought, was the end of that. And for the best. 


End file.
